The Hunger Games The Tributes
by ShootingStarr00
Summary: The Hunger Games in the opinions of the other tributes...
1. The Reaping

"Ladies first!" She reaches into the the glass ball and and takes out a slip of paper carefully. I clasp my hands in prayer. Please don't let it be Katniss. Please, please, please...

Silence. The crowd holds its breath as Effie Trinket goes back to the podium and unfolds the paper. Please don't let it be Katniss. Don't let it be Katniss. Please...

"Primrose Everdeen"

At first I feel relief, because Katniss was safe. There's no need to fear for her anymore. But then I realize who's name that was.

Mine.

No. No, it can't be. For a moment my mind blanks out because of the shock. I had only been worried about Katniss, not myself. In my mind, it's as if my name wasn't on one of the thousands of slips. But now the realization hits me. The odds are not in my favor today, even though there was only one slip among all the others. But it doesn't matter. I was chosen and nothing can change that.

Gritting my teeth, I clench my fists and stop myself from shaking. My weakness would make me an easy target in the Games. As I start to walk forward, I hear a cry come from the crowd, "Prim! Prim! " Katniss runs forward and shoves me behind her. "I volunteer! " she says in a breathless voice, " I volunteer as tribute! "

What? What did she just say? Then it dawns on me. Katniss will take my place.

"No, Katniss! " I scream desperately , "No! You can't go!" I cling to her, but she says something to me in a hard voice and tries to push me away.

"Let go!" Katniss says angrily. But I only grip her harder. Then strong arms pull me away. Gale is holding me, trying to restrain me. I struggle and fight him, screaming on top of my lungs. No, she can't go. Watching her die will be harder than dying myself. I can do nothing as she walks forward to take my place, helpless.

I step onto the stage, trying to compose myself. I can feel my body trembling, like a leaf in the wind. Every sound seems muted in my ears, and every second longer than a minute. "Any volunteers? " asks the District 11 escort, her voice echoing in my mind. I strain my ears, trying to hear something, anything, but the crowd is silent, and the only sound is the wind whistling through the empty buildings around me, as if it wanted to take my place.

Then Thresh's name is called. I watch him step forward and slowly walk to the stage. As he takes his place beside me, I can see a slight expression of sadness behind his usual mask of indifference when he looks down at me. I envy him. He definitely has a chance to win, and I hope he does. His victory will provide my family food to eat.

The mayor finally finishes his speech and motions for Thresh and me to shake hands. His are large and rough, and I feel so tiny and fragile next to him. When the anthem finally ends, we are escorted into the Justice Building.

Once inside, I was led to a luxurious room that seemed to be draped in the colors of autumn. It had thick, deep carpets and gilded chairs, and paintings on the ceiling picture designs of fruit and flowers. A woman with a dress that seems to be made of wheat stares down at me. All the furniture and decorations were red, orange, or gold. I sit down on couch covered with dark red velvet and try to calm my nerves. I cannot afford to get upset. I cannot present myself weaker than I already seem.

The only people who come to see me is my family. My little sister takes her necklace and puts it around my neck. "This will help you in the arena." she tells me, "It's for good luck. It will help you come back." But I know I wouldn't. Unless there was some kind of miracle. She knows it too. I can see tears welling up in her eyes.

"Don't cry," I tell her soothingly, stroking her hair, trying not to cry myself.

"You have to come back." she repeats. I look towards my parents, but they just stand there and wallow in their grief, even though I'm not dead yet. And my sisters sit with me on the couch. We spend the rest of our time in silence, as if we were all in mourning.

The peacekeeper at the door is signaling that our time is up. We all hug each other and they exit the room, leaving me alone. I sit there, trying to put my jumbled thoughts back together. The peacekeeper returns, telling me to come out. In my split second of hesitation, I make up my mind.

The odds were never in my favor, and I know I will probably die, but I will fight to the end no matter what.


	2. The Journey

I had never seen so much food on one table. All of this could keep up my family for at least a week. A creamy pumpkin soup, a basket of rolls shaped like flowers, a bowl of green salad, a plate of roast beef with onions and green peas, and for dessert, a chocolate custard dotted with cherries. All this luxury,more than I have ever dreamed of, and this is only the beginning. The Capitol would be even better. But I've only earned this because they are preparing me for slaughter.

After the meal's over, we go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings. One by one, we see the tributes from the other districts, names called, volunteers stepping forward. Only a few I can remember. A beautiful girl from District 1. A monstrous boy from District 2. A small girl with sleek red hair from 5. Then we are called. A crippled boy from 10. A tiny 12-year-old girl from District 11. Another 12-year-old from 12, but her sister runs forwards to volunteer. I wish that someone had volunteered for me.

I let my mind wander, but it is hard to think about anything. Not the Games, not the Capitol, not my family, not my home, not my fellow tribute. I absently trace the swirling pattern carved into the window frame, but I ignore the scene outside of the window, the forests of our home that we are leaving behind.

No. I steel my mind. That _I'm_ leaving behind. I will not acknowledge the boy beside me, even though he is my neighbor and friend. If I were to live, he would have to die. No. He does not exist anymore._ It is already too painful,_ I think as I avoid his gaze and his attempt to make conversation.

I hope he dies a painless death.

"There will be finally a winner in District 12," I remember my mother say, "She's a survivor, that one." The confidence I had just gained from her previous comment disappears. _She. _Of course. She is talking about Katniss. I look at my mother again, and I can feel tears welling up in my eyes. My mother is choosing Katniss over me. But she can't see the pain in my eyes, she never does.

Katniss sees it though, when I tell her what I heard my mother say. There is an expression of pity on her face. She sounded far away when she speaks, " But only because someone helped me." She still remembers. My mind goes back into that day in the rain.

"People will help you in the arena." I tell her. "They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you." she responds.

I roll my eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." _Like the effect she has on me. _I refuse to look at her as I run my fingernail along the wood grain on the table. She glowers at her food as if I had just insulted her.

I hope she wins, because I will do everything I can to protect her.

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